


Need Only Ask

by DraconicSeraphim



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Gellert Grindelwald Being Creepy, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicSeraphim/pseuds/DraconicSeraphim
Summary: Not in front of Mr. Graves, not before this man whom he so desperately wanted -needed- to impress. Mr. Graves was the only bright spot in his miserable life and how could the other man possibly think well of him, trust him to carry out these tasks, the tasks he needed a man for, not a silly shameful little boy that couldn’t even control his own body.Or the long overdue Credence Omorashi prompt fill





	

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could fool his body into believing he wasn’t hungry. It was a bit of a risk, some days but on mornings like this, when he honestly wasn’t sure when he’d had his last meal and the task of serving thin, weak soup to the street children that gathered at the church was enough to leave him feeling dizzy, it was worth the risk. His stomach protested his restraint, the smell of even broth enough to make it rumble desperately and he reached instead for the tin mug he’d filled with water. Ma didn’t scold him for drinking, at least, though the extra time required to go and fill an extra bucket of water and bring it up to the front of the church always got him at least one lash. 

It was worth it, though, if he could stave off the dizziness caused by hunger for a little while longer, fooling his body into thinking that the water was sufficient enough to sustain him. So he served soup to the children, stole long drinks of water, prayed Ma might allow him a little of the broth, not that it was really much more than the water. His prayers were answered, though by the time he was allowed to have the last dregs of what could hardly be called soup, his stomach ached and he felt strangely full. It was an odd pseudo-fullness that made him eager to escape the church, even if it meant hours in the cold and wet trying to force Ma’s beliefs onto passersby that had no interest.

Which was all as well for him. He left the church, heading for the same side streets and alleys he always frequented, planning to stop in his usual dark alley corner, shadowed by a factory on one side, to relieve himself before trying once again to convert the workers heading into the factory. Excepting that there was a polite old woman on this particular street that was interested, or at least lonely enough to listen to him talk, stumbling and unsure, the rehearsed lines drifting from his mind as dark eyes looked for an escape. He was grateful, of course, when the woman took not one but three leaflets, promising to tell her sister and her husband. He murmured a soft thank you, flinching when the kind woman patted his hand and told him what a nice boy he was. The praise would normally coax him into staying with her for just a little longer, enjoying her company, but now it was just a little more time between him and the sweet relief of an alley, and any would do by now.

There was a flash of guilt when he rushed past the woman and several others on the street, ducking between buildings. It was an alley he often met Mr. Graves in and he had a moment to wonder if the older man would know, would scold him for sullying their meeting place. Then he was pushing the thought away, fingers reaching for his belt, traitorous, wretched thing.

The pop that echoed down the alley frightened him so badly he nearly made a mess of himself then and there. Dark eyes went wide and he wondered frantically if Mr. Graves could possibly know when the younger man was thinking of him. Then he thought of other times Mr. Graves had been on his mind and flushed darkly, bowing his head even as he dropped his hands and angled himself away from the wall slightly. “M-Mr. Graves?”

The wizard swept down the alleyway, looking decidedly out of place amidst the trash and debris. Strong fingers immediately reached for Credence’s chin, thumb stroking along his jaw, tilting his head up slightly. “Credence…” A sigh of his name, soft and soothing on his frazzled nerves. He fought the urge to lean into the touch, body tense with restraint and he was afraid of what would happen if he allowed that tension to leave him now. “Are you in pain?” Concern that made the younger man whimper because just this once he wasn’t. Not the way Mr. Graves meant. He’d only been beaten once, lightly by Ma’s standards, and that was two days ago. No, his punishment for his wanton, greedy, excess was having his meals withheld. 

But his body did ache, his belly full and rounded, made more obvious by how dangerously thin he was. His hands clasped in front of him, instead of hanging loose at his sides and he tried to move as subtly as possible, pressing his wrists against his body as though the pressure would ease the ache. “N-No, sir.”

“Do you have news?” Immediately hard and hopeful in equal turns once he was assured of the boy’s well being. Credence whined softly, the sound just a faint high vibration on his next exhale as he tried desperately to remain still. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves.” Such a failure, a disappointment, and here he was unable to even fully offer the other man penance for his failings because he was finding it increasingly hard to focus.

“Credence.” And this time it was scolding, disappointed and Mr. Graves retreated, stepping back to lean against the wall, no longer touching, just appraising. The wizard clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Please, sir…” He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for. A pardon just this once, an excuse for his uselessness, a reprieve from the way Mr. Graves eyes followed the shiver of tension in his body as he dared to press his thighs together. All Credence needed was a moment, just one moment to hide, to breathe, to finally relieve himself. Mr. Graves wasn’t going to give him that, though. One elegant brow arched, the question of his inclined head as clear as day.

“I just… I need-” Credence whimpered again, louder this time, shifting his weight and clenching his fingers together as though that could possibly help. He couldn’t say the words, though, his teeth finding his lip and biting down firmly to stifle another desperate sound. Mr. Graves stayed where he was, coolly watching as Credence wrung his hands together and tried not to squirm too much. It wouldn’t help, he knew it wouldn’t help. 

He took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out slow and steady and gasping, nearly jumping out of his skin when Mr. Graves’ hand wrapped firmly around his bicep. Pain, sharp and desperate lanced through him as he fought his own need. How could he live with his shame if he- if- 

“What do you need, Credence?” The rumble of his voice, so close, so low he could feel it as much as hear it and the sound that escaped Credence was nearly a sob. If the situation were just a bit different, if it had been a mere two minutes later Credence would have been uncomfortable for entirely different reasons. As it was his cheeks burned with embarrassment, his breathing strained as though there wasn’t enough room for air with how desperately full he was. 

He chanced a glance up at Mr. Graves, face darkening even further when he saw the small tilt of his lips, something nearly amusement in his gaze and Credence abruptly felt even more like a child with the way this man, so dignified in his fine suit and luxurious coat, watched him struggle. “P-please…” The faintest whisper as he ducked his head, bowing his back further as though folding in on himself would make the ache go away. Still, even knowing that Mr. Graves _knew_ he couldn’t let himself squirm and writhe the way he wanted to. Nor could he even fathom the idea of stepping away from the man and simply unzipping his trousers. 

Not in front of Mr. Graves, not before this man whom he so desperately wanted - _needed_ \- to impress. Mr. Graves was the only bright spot in his miserable life and how could the other man possibly think well of him, trust him to carry out these tasks, the tasks he needed a man for, not a silly shameful little boy that couldn’t even control his own body.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Credence.” Soft and coaxing and Credence felt his lashes dampen with tears as a strangled sob escaped him. How could he?

The hand on his arm, thumb moving in soothing circles, abruptly tightened. Credence’s eyes flew open, dark gaze flashing up to Mr. Graves as he felt the brick of the wall against his back, sharp and sudden and he fell into it. The motion was so swift, throwing him off balance and he was so tense, so tight with his own restraint that it hurt more than he could have ever expected. Brick bit into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his jacket and the slightest, horrific sensation of warmth seeped from him into his underclothes. A few, small, drops and he whimpered, folding in on himself, trying to pull away from the older man, tears streaking his cheeks. It hurt, ached so deeply trying to stop, to restrain himself but it was futile and he knew it. Those first few stuttering, abortive drops fought their way free from the iron grip he tried to hold onto and then the fight was lost.

Credence brought his hands to his face, hiding behind long, slender fingers as heat flooded him, the warmth of relief spreading through him and soaking slowly into his trousers, first just a small patch of darkness against the worn and faded black. Then Mr. Graves stepped back, something cruel and satisfied on his face and hidden from Credence’s awareness by the boy’s own shame, watching as that dark stain spread from crotch to inseam, widening as it traveled down one leg, so much and so far as to dampen the boy’s sock and drip to pool around his scuffed and tattered shoes. 

For a long moment they simply stood there, less than an arm’s length apart, Credence crying softly into his hands, Graves smiling a predatory smile at the hunched form before him. And then, just as the heat was beginning to fade away, to leave Credence’s clothes cool and damp, sticking to him when the wind kicked up through the alley, Mr. Graves schooled his expression into something that wasn’t quite sympathy but was, at least, not as viciously satisfied. His hand slid over the back of Credence’s neck and he groaned at how deliciously pliant the boy was, now. It took only the smallest hint of pressure, light and gentle guidance to bring the boy to his knees, soaking the front of his trousers now in puddle he’d made.

Graves let his fingers card softly through the boy’s hair, tugging sharply to snap his head back, forcing him to look up at him. Merlin, he was gorgeous like this. The tears staining his cheeks, lips crimson and plush from the abuse of his teeth, horrified and filled with shame, weak and vulnerable and the rush of power made Graves even more uncomfortable than he had been watching the boy whimper and dance on his toes in desperation. The hand not in Credence’s hair reached down to palm himself through his trousers, adjusting his erection briefly before reaching for the boy’s hands. 

He guided Credence’s trembling fingers to the button on his own slacks, coaxing the boy through unfastening them, growling softly at the way the boy refused to meet his eyes, meek and subdued in his shame. The thrill of power, of making the boy undo his trousers and lift his cock out with tentative touches when the boy himself was still kneeling in soaked pants, in a cold pool of his own piss, was nearly enough to make Graves lose his composure entirely. He swallowed hard, fingers wrapping around his length and tilting Credence’s head back further, forcing the boy to arch his back until he gasped in discomfort.

“You really should learn to tell people what you need, Credence.” Low and it was a struggle to keep the words heated but not threatening. He thought the whimper from the boy might indicate that he hadn’t fully succeeded but he didn’t think that was a problem given the way Credence was flushed all over again, breath coming in shallow pants. Graves guided the boy’s mouth to the head of his cock, rubbing precome over ravaged lips with a wicked smirk.

“It’s astounding what people will do if you simply _ask_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I honestly wasn't going to post this on here, originally. I have never written omo before and I was absolutely terrified I was going to screw this up horribly. But after agonizing over it all day I'm damn well going to take responsibility for this little piece that definitely challenged me to explore new things. Okay the whole Gellert getting off on his little power trip over poor Credence is right up my alley but that is neither here nor there.
> 
> So, for better or worse, this is what happened.


End file.
